I performed my first healing spell on my mother. Mary Magdalene Gibson was a staunch fundamentalist Christian. She did not believe in anything remotely magical. She knew that her son, the doctor, was a bit unusual. She knew that he could see into the future and appear in the dreams of others. She knew that he had been honored as a physician for his healing prowess on a national level. She knew that despite all that she knew, there were still certain realities that she could not quite fathom or accept.
She did not like the fact that I meditated daily. She thought that all meditation was simply a way of talking to the devil. She did not like my books on mysticism or spirituality. In her mind, all you needed was a Bible and a hymnal. We talked many many hours about dreams, the Bible, the after life, and the reality of God. We agreed on somethings, and on most other things we decided to leave the matter open.
One thing that we decided to accept between us was my ability to heal. Whenever my mother had a flareup of gout, arthritis, asthma, headaches, or any painful malady, she asked me to lay hands on her. Invariably, the malady would subside within minutes. She never asked how the energy worked. She never questioned the source of the power. She did however want relief when her pills didn’t work any longer.
In ancient times, a physician was as likely to have herbs, potions, and spells in his bag as anything else. Medical schools and modern medicine are actually recent additions to the healing stage. Most people do not realize that for most of mankind’s history, formal medicine, medical schools, and hospitals did not exist. I believe that in my past lives, I lived as a healer, shaman, sage, and magician. The power to lay on hands and heal that I have probably came from those lifetimes.
One day, my mother flew out to see me in Phoenix. The flight from North Carolina was long and tiring. On more than one occasion, the stress of flying would cause her gout to flare up. On this occasion both her knees swelled up to awful proportions. Her medication did little to stop the pain or swelling.
As soon as we got home, I laid my hands on her knees. The pain did not budge. The swelling did not go down as it normally did. I tried to stop her pain and swelling for more than 30 minutes. We looked at each other puzzled and exhausted. She lay back on the couch and I could see a stream of tears forming on her face. I did not want her trip to be like this. I wanted to take her shopping. I wanted to let me meet my friends. I wanted to watch movies and go to church with her. I wanted her to be well. The healing that emanated from my hands did not work. I needed to do something different.
I looked through my library and found a book on healing spells. I had never tried one but I looked down from my upstairs book stacks and saw my mother laying there, holding her knees in tears. You had to be there to know the feeling of helplessness that I felt at that moment. Great doctor, poor healer…
I found a spell that felt right to me. I read the words out loud to myself. I felt a familiar tingle rush through my hands. I walked downstairs, read the words again, and laid my hands on my mother’s knees. Within seconds, the pain vanished. A few minutes later, the swelling began to subside. Thirty minutes later, she was pain free. She fell asleep for an hour or so. When she awoke, she looked at me and smiled. She said;
“I’m glad your voodoo worked this time. What’s for supper?”
The spell that I used augmented my healing power. It was a variant of the spell that Moses used to turn his staff into a snake. I never told my mother that my healing boost came from the Bible, though she would not have believed me. I learned that sometimes, healing spells could be more powerful than we ever gave them credit for.
I used that spell every time my mother had a flare up. It worked every time.
Mitchell Gibson MD